


You're In This Radiance

by katabasis (aphorat)



Category: BUCK-TICK
Genre: Anal Sex, Drug Use, Facials, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 02:12:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14415417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphorat/pseuds/katabasis
Summary: In which Imai tunes in, turns on, and drops out, and Sakurai is along for the ride.





	You're In This Radiance

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for non-explicitly mentioned LSD use. I left it kind of vague in-text, but that's definitely what's going on here.

It starts at a party where no one bats an eye at what he does, or how he occupies his time. Things begin, as they often do, with beer, but as the night wears on the ante is upped several times, until he's lightheaded and the tension seeps from his body like so much smoke from a chimney. Hisashi sighs then, settling back in his booth, because for the first time in days he's truly relaxed, even as his heart rate increases and his skin warms beneath the dim lights overhead.   
  
He doesn't know how much time has passed before Atsushi appears before him in triplicate, and he stares up at the other man for a long while before blinking and refocusing his gaze. "I think," the vocalist begins, tactful and steady-voiced despite his own excesses tonight, "it's time for you to call it a night, Imai-kun." One of his hands rests gently against Hisashi's shoulder, and he can feel the details of each fingertip, each whorl and crease etched into the skin.  
  
"Sure," he replies eventually, and stands on unsteady legs, allowing the other man to lead him out into the brisk night air. They take a taxi to Hisashi's, because Atsushi is in no state to drive either, and the ride home is quiet, illuminated by neon shop signs and their lingering afterimages. Hisashi stares out the window raptly, but every now and then he'll cast a sideways glance at Atsushi, whose face seems to glow from the passing street lights. If he stares too long at him it starts to make his eyes sore, as if he's looking directly into the sun, and so Hisashi turns back to the view outside, bright and colorful but paling in comparison to the light radiating from Atsushi.   
  
The guitarist's apartment is quiet and dark, and they cast long shadows along the hallway as they make their way to the bedroom. Atsushi guides him as they walk with a hand at the small of his back, and it tethers him to the floorboards beneath his feet, the walls on either side of him. His body feels as though it's threatening to float away, to drift through the roof and into the night sky up above; but the fingertips slipping beneath the hem of his shirt, stroking up the ridges of his spine, are what keep him grounded as they step into his room.   
  
Atsushi's drunk and his fingers are clumsy as they fumble with their clothing, but Hisashi is of little help, staring mesmerized at the full moon outside his window as his shirt slips past his shoulders. Atsushi comes to rest behind him, working the other man's pants down past his hips and pressing close, chest to back. He mouths along his shoulder, up the column of his neck—and presses his lips to the rosy curve of his cheek, hands splaying across his chest.   
  
"What were you up to tonight?" he murmurs playfully, one hand gliding up his chest to tilt Hisashi's jaw. Atsushi kisses him at the same moment his other hand slips between his legs, fingers gliding along the underside of his length. The guitarist's hips twitch, and he finally draws his gaze away from the moon, eyes lidding shut as he returns the kiss with a groan.  
  
"Celebrating," he mumbles against Atsushi's lips, and doesn't elaborate because he knows the question was rhetorical. Atsushi is more aware than he lets on, more perceptive of his actions, however discrete—and doesn't judge, which is something Hisashi is endlessly thankful for. They're all glad that their tour final has gone well, and that they'll get some much-needed vacation time afterwards; and he's sure that all of his band members have had a little too much that night.   
  
(Sure, Hisashi has had the most by far, but who's counting?)  
  
Atsushi strokes him to hardness with a firm grasp but languid motions, sucking a bruise to the join of his neck and shoulder. His other hand wanders across the guitarist's torso, fingers running along the bones of his rib cage, the peak of a nipple. Hisashi leans back against him, reaching back to cup the base of Atsushi's head and tangle trembling fingers in blond hair, clutching strands of it desperately as he arches into his hand.   
  
The singer knows he could bring him off just like this, whispering filth in his ear with a hand wrapped around his cock, but he has other plans for Hisashi tonight. Pulling away elicits a whine from the other man, but when Atsushi bends him over the mattress it turns into a hoarse groan instead, muffled by the bedding as he folds his arms in front of him. He buries his head in the blankets as he feels the hot, wet press of Atsushi's tongue against his entrance, legs splaying as he tries to rock back against him.   
  
He can feel the subtle shift of Atsushi dropping to his knees behind him, one hand gripping the slight swell of his ass as he begins to mouth at him in earnest. It's overwhelming from the outset; his already flushed skin warms further and his senses, heightened to an almost unnatural intensity, allow him to feel each movement more acutely. The vocalist's other hand continues to stroke him, thumb idling along the tip of his cock to smear the pre-come collecting there.   
  
Hisashi's whole body wavers and he lets loose a muted groan when Atsushi's tongue works its way inside him, fingers curling tight in the bed sheets. Atsushi's hands never tire as they roam down to his thigh or palm at his cock, and the guitarist finds himself rushing quickly towards his release, blood roaring in his ears as his eyes squeeze tightly shut.   
  
Lights burst behind his eyelids, and Hisashi comes with a gasp of Atsushi's name that reverberates in the quiet bedroom. The other man never slows his attentions, lapping at him hungrily as his hand works every drop of come from him, and Hisashi shudders through the aftershocks of it, nerve endings flooded with too many stimuli. Finally he pushes himself up on his elbows, one weak keening sound caught in his throat as Atsushi fucks him with his tongue.   
  
"Shit," he says harshly, dragging himself forward on the mattress, until the contact with Atsushi's lips and tongue is lost. The singer laughs quietly behind him, low and almost infuriating for how serene it sounds. "Give me—" he begins, stopping to suck in a much-needed breath before continuing, "—give me a sec'." He blinks once and stars swim across his vision, but eventually he manages to catch his breath and come down from the onslaught of sensations that have proven to be, in his altered state, almost too much for him to bear.   
  
Atsushi smooths the flat of his hand up his leg, over the sharp jut of his hip and along the curve of his waist, momentarily slow and soothing before that hand slips around his hip and rolls him onto his back. He steps away long enough to retrieve a bottle of lubricant from where it sits in Hisashi's drawer, then settles back on the bed, kneeling between the guitarist's splayed thighs.   
  
"Just tell me when you're ready," Atsushi says benignly, settling back on his haunches to slick down his cock. The way he strokes himself is languorous, as if he's savoring each twist and squeeze of his fingers, and Hisashi's gaze slips out of focus as he watches, transfixed by the sight of him. Atsushi's blond hair falls around his shoulders like spun gold, pale skin glowing in the moonlight streaming in through the window, and Hisashi swallows a lump in his throat, no longer feeling so utterly drained as he settles back against the pillows.   
  
Instead, desire begins to kindle once more in the pit of his belly, and he watches unabashedly as Atsushi traces a finger along the underside of his cock. "Yeah," he breathes, shifting to grasp at Atsushi's thighs—the closest bit of him he can reach. His nails rake over the smooth surface of them as he spreads his legs, and the vocalist's lips curve up in a faint grin. "Yeah," he repeats, voice more steady as he continues to speak, "I want you to fuck me, Atsushi,  _please_."  
  
"I do like to hear you say it," Atsushi drawls, urging forward with the fluid grace of a predatory cat and slipping a lube-slick hand between Hisashi's thighs. Two fingers slip inside him easily, passage eased by his earlier attentions, and when he prepares the other man it's quick and forceful, with Hisashi begging him to add a third before long.   
  
The guitarist's spindly legs hook around Atsushi's waist as he sinks inside with a groan, movements hurried and erratic from the start. Hisashi's fingers bury themselves in the other man's hair, drawing him down into a kiss that bruises and drinking down his moans. Each thrust sends an electric jolt up his spine that dizzies him, renders him breathless and shuddering beneath him. It's such a stark contrast to his normal impassivity and he knows Atsushi loves it, loves to crack his stoic facade until he's little more than an incoherent wreck beneath him.   
  
And tonight it's all so much more than usual, because while it's been hours since he's peaked he still feels the effects of what he's taken. It feels like they're melting into one another, like he can't tell where he ends and the other man begins, and it's all so good, so heated and deep and  _urgent_  and Hisashi wishes it would never end. Atsushi's nails are dragging down his thighs, leaving blotchy red marks against the skin, and his teeth catch first at his lower lip, then the rise of his Adam's apple.   
  
Each individual sensation—the nails biting into his skin, the teeth dragging across his neck, the head of his cock as it hits his prostate with every thrust—each is vying for dominance, and Hisashi can't focus, can't reconcile the enormity of what he's feeling. Eventually they all swell into one steady, pulsing wave of pleasure that comes crashing down on him all at once, and he can feel it to the tips of his toes as he comes once more, erection untouched as Atsushi buries himself in the heat of him.  
  
He comes to slowly, as if he's moving through honey instead of air. He can feel, indistinct and blurry in the depths of his perception, the sensation of Atsushi pulling out of him, drawing back and eventually off the bed all together. The bed springs creak with the loss of his weight, and Hisashi finally draws himself up off the pillows, peering around to see where the other man has gone.   
  
Atsushi's there at the side of the bed, looking down at him with lidded eyes and a hungry expression. He leans forward, taking his own still-hard length in hand as he cups the smaller man's jaw. "Come here," he bids in his quiet, melodic voice, and Hisashi can feel the sound of it sinking into his bones. He shifts forward on hands and knees, and inclines his head forward until he's close enough to lap at Atsushi's cock, wrapping his lips around the head of it and taking it into his mouth.   
  
One of the singer's hands remains at his jaw, fingers tracing the curve of his cheek, and the other settles on the back of Hisashi's head, clutching at the blond shock of his hair as he begins to rock his hips. Hisashi's mouth works around him, lips stretched almost uncomfortably as his head bobs forwards, then draws back. When Atsushi's hips begin to move with more roughness he moans, surging forward until he's gagging and blinking away involuntary tears.  
  
He doesn't relent though, nose pressing to the flat of Atsushi's abdomen as his throat struggles around him. Atsushi is murmuring up above him, whispered encouragements and words of praise that only spur him on further. "You feel so good," he says around a stuttering breath, and Hisashi hums in response, one hand smoothing up his stomach and reveling in the softness of his skin.   
  
Hisashi mouths at him greedily, and it doesn't take long before Atsushi is teetering on the edge of his orgasm. He pushes sweat-damp hair away from his eyes and hunches forward slightly, pulling the other man's head back with a sharp tug. "Mouth open," he says, commanding but almost fond as he drags the head of his cock along Hisashi's lips. He wraps his fingers around himself and with a few quick strokes he's coming in Hisashi's mouth and across his cheek, moaning out his name as fingers clench in his hair.   
  
When Hisashi's back hits the mattress once more the ceiling is spinning up above him, and he shivers as the thin layer of sweat on him cools, then dries. His breathing gradually slows but his jaw aches from overuse, and for a long while he simply stares at the fan overhead, mind struggling to catch up with the ordeals his body has gone through. Atsushi's tongue laps up the last remaining traces of his release from Hisashi's heated skin, and the sensation makes him shudder, curving onto his side and against the other man's shoulder.  
  
"I'm," he begins, voice rough in his overtaxed throat, "I'm not going to remember this tomorrow, am I?"  
  
"No," Atsushi replies, hooking an arm around his waist and drawing one of the bed's thin blankets up around them. "No, you most certainly are not." There's something long-suffering, almost weary about his tone, but Hisashi's already drifted off again, entranced by the hypnotic sound of Atsushi's heartbeat as it beats a slow, steady rhythm.


End file.
